Lady Be Good
by mauvemaven
Summary: In lands far, far away, Oliver is Prince Clueless. Felicity is Rebel Princess. In between spats and fights and shouting matches, desire blooms and attraction catches. Will love finally find its mark or will their differences drive them apart? Stay tuned and see what happens! Olicity Medieval AU. BAMF Felicity. Cross-posted from AO3.
1. Here Comes Trouble

I wrote this as an exercise to get over my writing block. I've been away too long but now I'm back. I'm writing this as a one-shot vignette, at least, for now. No copyright infringement is intended. This work is unbeta'd. Reviews/comments/follows/faves are always welcome! Please be kind. XOXO

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"Tommy!" Oliver shouted as his friend tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath. He had heard of children being felled by nothing more than a bee sting but never big, strong men just like his friend, Thomas, Prince of Arkham. They had been part of a sortie on a hunt celebrating Tommy's betrothal to the Lady Laurel. They, together with their fathers and a contingent of the Royal Legion, were guests of her native Blüdhaven, one of the less inhospitable domains that bordered the Realm. The betrothal was but a prelude to the accord that would bring peace to the Realm of the Four Kings and at least, part of the Outlands.

Oliver, who was recently returned from one of the Realm's bloodiest crusades, was present not because he was Master Knight Commander of the Royal Legion's Army or High Prince of the Realm, but because he was Tommy's most trusted friend. He had been drafted into a friendly competition that pitted their fathers against them but, alas, as was his luck, there was never just an easy way of it. He was trained to rule his people, to lead his men, to slay dragons, but not this, never this. There was no enemy here but time.

The other knights, who had fallen behind as he and Tommy sprinted away from the buzzing insects, now hastened towards the commotion. Tommy was struggling to breathe, his face and tongue having swollen up after being stung by the bees they had unwittingly disturbed from their hive.

"The physician! At once!" Oliver commanded as he hastily loosened Tommy's clothing. He had become too busy pulling the stingers out from his friend's face and neck to hear a couple of horses galloping away, or the sound of one thundering towards them.

The leaves on the forest floor rustled as the others parted to give way to the raging white destrier everyone called Drago. In all of the Realm's four kingdoms, the ornery beast had yielded to one rider alone, and that same one had dismounted from the still charging horse.

He had heard the thud of boots landing forcefully on the ground, and then the hurried strides towards where his friend had lain.

"There is no time for the physician," a voice behind him said.

Oliver turned then and identified the voice as hers – the one many called the "Lady in Breeches" or "The Lady Drago", but whom he knew to be Tommy's younger sister, the Princess Felicity. He was not aware that she had joined the hunt but the raven-haired hoyden had apparently made her way to them from her white stallion and had assessed the situation with her all-too-knowing eyes.

And then she did what she was wont to do in situations where everyone but her seemed rattled – she took charge.

"A flagon of wine! Quickly!" she shouted as she knelt beside her brother. "You will be fine, brother," she whispered as she got rid of her gloves to retrieve her dagger from its sheathe on her belt. As she tore part of her tunic with it, she commanded Oliver to lay Tommy flat on his back. Her voice was terse and absolute. Many nobles, both lord and lady, would not have dared speak to the High Prince as she did. But then again she was unlike any other.

A servant came running with a pewter vessel that was brimming with the liquid. She held out the cloth she had torn and had the servant generously douse one end of it with wine.

"Keep him still," she instructed Oliver as she retrieved her blowpipe from yet another notch on her belt. It was a hollow, reed-like weapon that was forged in bronze – a gift from her brother many a summer before.

Oliver secured his friend's arms and looked to Sir John, one of his most trusted knights, to hold Tommy's legs down. Once done, he faced Felicity as she wiped her blowpipe and her dagger with the cloth. He nodded at her as she looked back at him. She acknowledged his readiness with a curt nod and proceeded to lay her dagger and blowpipe atop the soaked rag she had positioned on Tommy's chest.

She then moved herself high on her brother's side and proceeded to wipe the skin of his throat with one end of the wet rag that she had extended to his neck. "This will hurt," she warned him.

And then she did the unthinkable.

With one of her fingers on the prominence of Tommy's throat and another, a short span below it, Felicity carefully brought her dagger to the space between and made a vertical incision. Despite the pain he knew his friend was feeling, Oliver could feel Tommy's strength leave with each gasping breath.

"Hang on, Thomas," she whispered as she exposed a membrane of some sort under his skin. "Just a little bit more, brother." Oliver then saw her make another incision, delicately piercing the membrane with just the tip of her dagger.

A hiss of air sounded and he felt the struggle return to his friend.

"Hold him steady or I might pierce his gullet!" The lady demanded, even as she dabbed the wound's bleeding edges with the cloth. Oliver answered by lending more of his heft.

Holding the wound open with her dagger, she used her other hand to slowly replace the knife with her blowpipe. Once the tube was in place, the air came more easily to Tommy, and Oliver could feel the recurring heaves of breath on his friend's chest. He eased his weight off the man post haste, without taking the restraint from Tommy's arms.

"Breathe, Tommy," he heard Felicity coo, "You are safe."

Oliver felt his friend cease to struggle – his breath coming evenly. It prompted him to relax his hold on Tommy's arms and finally let go. And only then did he look at Felicity again.

He never did understand Tommy's devotion to his younger sister. She was a hellion by all accounts. Left to be raised by her father – the formidable warrior, King Malcolm of Arkham – with nary a woman's touch, she had grown into another one of his soldiers.

Having been trained by the King with Tommy ever since they were boys, Oliver himself had known Malcolm to be incredibly exacting. Felicity had not been spared any of that, regardless of her sex. Some could argue that her father had even been harder on her because of it.

Malcolm, then, had seemingly cured her of any and all of her feminine sensibilities. In all the years he had spent in Arkham Tower, Oliver had seen no softness in her – that is until now, when he saw her lay a kiss on her brother's brow.

"You live yet, Merlyn," she smiled into her brother's eyes, even as she held the pipe in place. Tommy began to move his lips but what came out was a choked stertor. "Do not try to speak, brother. It may be a while yet before you can," she said as Tommy's hand came to wrap around her forearm. She was unaware or had forgotten that she had an audience as she continued to whisper soothingly at Tommy. Oliver knew that had she known just how many eyes were on her, she would not have been so gentle. After all, this was the Lady Drago, the first and only lady to have been appointed Dame Commander in her own right.

"I have to dress your wound, Tommy. It would not do to leave it like this," she said as she gently bade her brother to let go of her arm. "I need my hands, if only for a while." But Tommy would not budge. When her gentle words failed, she resorted to teasing, "Come now, Thomas Merlyn! We would not want your Lady Laurel to hear of this, would we?"

At the mention of his betrothed, Tommy swiftly let go of her arm. Oliver had to suppress his laughter in spite of his worry. He had never thought that his easygoing friend would fall for such a proper lady, but despite the betrothal being as much a political necessity as any, the rogue seemed to have done just that.

"He needs some herbs and bandages that I do not have on hand. May I borrow some of your men, Your Highness?" She asked, careful to keep a polite edge in her voice.

Oliver quirked an eyebrow. It startled him that she had addressed him directly. She rarely, if ever, spoke to him outside of his military capacity. He could tell that it grated on her, having to seek aid, and from him, nonetheless. She had always been a prickly one and ever since he returned – nay, ever since he turned his comptroller duties over to her just before he left for his latest crusade – all he did, it seemed, was raise her hackles.

"These are _your_ men, Your Highness," she said as she lowered her gaze from his, "You have more standing with them."

Oliver contemplated her quietly for a bit. She had no compunction in ordering everyone about when they seemed lost, but now that the crisis had passed, it would seem that she remembered herself. She was not Dame Commander here – certainly not in the Outlands. She was merely Princess.

"Sir John, Sir Andrew, do as the Princess asks," Oliver yielded as he directed his most honorable knights. He was sure that they would be respectful towards her. Most of the knights of the Realm, as he heard, had taken quite a dislike to her, though they would never deign to show it. He suspected that it was not because she was truly repulsive in any way, but because she had a tendency to show up most of them when it came to a test of skills. From what he remembered, she had a prodigious ability to peeve with her sharp blade and vex with her even sharper mind.

"Thank you, Your Highness," she said gratefully. And then it didn't even take another second before she was back to her authoritative self, "Now, if you don't mind?" She stated as she took him by the wrist, wiped his hand against the wet rag and directed him to clasp the pipe that was keeping Tommy alive. "You are not to let this slip, lest you want your dearest friend to die," she stressed as she held his gaze and tightened her hand on his.

Any subject who would have ventured to command him so would have found themselves in the stocks. But all he could think about was how inexplicably soft her skin was against his pulse. Mystified by his sudden and unexpected reaction, he bobbed his head, unable to speak.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Felicity cautiously approached the knights the High Prince had allowed her. She was always wary of the lot of them. She knew most of their kind resented her to some degree or other, even if the code they swore to uphold forbade them from openly showing it. Still, she preferred their gruff dismissal to the sneering contempt and hurtful blather that most women heaped upon her. It seemed it was her lot in life to never quite belong.

"Your Highness," the knights said as she reached them. They were brothers, she thought, as she took in the resemblance.

"How could we be of service?" The taller one – Sir John – asked, as he gave her a bow that Sir Andrew was quick to mirror.

Her caution was unwarranted. Both knights were genuinely polite and obliging. She directed Sir John to a patch of chamomile she had passed and also asked him to forage for some stinging nettle and aloe. She asked Sir Andrew and a servant to find whatever clean linen they could. She showed them how to prepare the bandages without soiling them and just how long to steam the strips over a boiling cauldron of water. With a swatch done, she came back to where Tommy and Oliver were. She doused her hands with wine yet again.

"Tommy, I am to bind your wound so Oliver can move you to a cot. But first…" she said as she laid her fingers and pressed upon the pulses on her brother's neck.

It took Oliver a second to recover from the shock of his given name on her lips, before he realized just what she was doing. He was about to object when Felicity threw him a glare that could quell thunder. The blue of her eyes flashed steel: _I am not killing him_.

"Easy now, steady," she murmured as Tommy drifted into unconsciousness. "Sleep, brother, rest," she whispered into his ear as she slowly relieved the pressure on his neck.

"Must you do that?" Oliver grumbled. His friend almost died once that day and seeing him deviously knocked out again by none other than his sister chafed at him. If it weren't for his indignation, he would've admired just how well she did it.

She shrugged. "It would be easier to treat him now without hurting him any more as it is," she said as she retrieved a pot of salve from her satchel and started to dab it on Tommy's wound. She felt around her brother's nape and visually inspected his neck and face. "It is very well that you've seen to the stingers," she said as she began to apply the same salve on the stings. "Though you may have to undress him later and look more thoroughly," she added while she started winding the bandage around the pipe below Oliver's grip. She then made a collar out of the remaining length and secured it with a tight knot, "You may let go."

He did as she bade. Oliver flexed his fingers as she tested the pipe to see if it would hold. "Move him if you must but make sure no one disturbs this," she instructed as she swabbed her brother's breathing tube with another wine-dampened cloth.

Oliver nodded and stood to order his men about. Night would fall soon and they still had to set-up camp. He summoned his squire. "Roy, get a pallet and cot here. Then have Gambit and the other animals rounded up and secured." In all the mayhem, he had forgotten about their steed, their hounds, and their hawks. They had run to the opposite clearing when the bees had attacked.

"Yes, sire," the youth acknowledged as he hurried to obey his commander's orders.

"Help me pitch the tent," he said to the five men on his right. And then to the knights behind Felicity, he said, "The rest of you tend to the evening meal and keep watch." He began to roll his own shirtsleeves up, not seeming to catch the look Felicity leveled upon him – or more precisely, upon his neck.

He had just done up one cuff when a cool, soft hand latched upon his newly bared forearm. "Your Highness," she said.

Nobody – not even the Realm's most formidable warriors – dared to touch his person without thought for their own safety, but there she was. Oliver treated her to a deadly stare of his own. _What now?_ She was beginning to annoy him.

"You've been stung," she said as she diverted her eyes to his neck. She may have been cowed by his glare but she did not ease her grip. "Let me tend to you," she said as she began to move him towards the cot his squire had set up. At his resistance, she said, "It won't be a minute."

He relented. In truth, he was beginning to feel the burning ache from the stings.

He huffed as he took a seat. She stood beside him and lowered his collar to inspect his neck. Her cool hands had begun to roam his skin, and loath as he was to admit it, her fingers had soothed where she touched.

The afternoon sun had caught the impression of three stingers that protruded against his neck. The area around them had begun to redden and swell. She allowed her fingers to feel around his nape and palpate the other side of his jaw to make sure there were no others. "Take deep breaths. This may hurt," she said when she was certain that there were indeed only three. "Ready?" she asked as she supported his face with one hand and poised the other on the most swollen one.

At his abrupt nod, she carefully began to scrape her finger nail against the buried appendage. His hands clenched at the cot's wooden frame as the burning pain began to sear. He felt his vision swim as she got the first one out but he concentrated instead on the soothing caress of her thumb on his other cheek. She allowed him a breath before she repeated the process once and then again.

"One last," she warned when she began to draw the third barb out. The pain had become unbearable – and this from a man who had himself survived torture. He wished she had knocked him out instead.

It was a second before the distant sound of her voice pulled him back to the present. "This is from a wasp, not a bee. You are lucky they didn't sting you to death," she said, as she held out the last barb for him to see. He blinked his eyes to focus on her fingers. He was unaware that he had leaned into her to catch his breath. He straightened up when he caught himself.

When she was convinced that he was past the pain, she let go of him to retrieve the pot of salve she had inadvertently left beside Tommy. "Who else has been stung?" she called to the knights who were working around them, as she stood at her brother's side. "Come now so I can tend to it." When no one came forward, she ordered them to carry on.

She was beside Oliver again in two steps. He winced as he felt her run a damp cloth on his wounds. It stung but not as much as it did when she was getting the stingers out. "I shall have to see to Sir John and the nettles. It seems we would need more of it now," she said as she began to rub the soothing salve on his wounds. When she realized that she did not yet have more of the bandages she had commissioned to cover his wounds, she decided to blow on the salve on his skin to set it instead.

His skin erupted in gooseflesh. _What in damnation was happening?_

"Are you going to be fine?" She asked as she felt him tense against her fingers.

Finding himself speechless yet again, he gave her a curt nod. He was currently fighting the heretofore unknown urge to grab her and keep her around him. His brain could not still fathom why that was.

Believing him to be recovered from his near faint, Felicity righted the collar of his jerkin. "I shall see to the nettles then," she said as she recapped the pot and placed it back inside her satchel. She turned from him and left, not waiting to be dismissed from his presence.

"Stay close to John, and stay within sight," he bit out, when he was more himself and remembered just how dangerous the Outlands were to outsiders like them. Never mind that she was a soldier who was apparently deadlier with her hands than her sword – she was still a woman – and a princess at that.

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Hope you like it. I could turn it into a series of vignettes if this gets enough traction, so don't forget to let me know what you think below! Kisses!


	2. Felicity, Thy Name is Trouble

Thanks to all those who reviewed, followed and faved this story! This work continues because of you. Anyway, I shall not keep you further. You know the drill! XOXO

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 **Chapter 2**

Oliver was beside himself with worry. Night beckoned and Felicity was nowhere to be found. The Kings, it seemed, together with their host, His Excellency, Quentin, Chief of Blüdhaven, had hastened towards them after word of Tommy's accident. His father's party had arrived not even a minute when King Malcolm had demanded he deliver the Princess to his presence at once. It had not been Oliver's fault that the Princess Felicity had apparently disobeyed her father's direct order to stay with Quentin's family and out of the hunt but he would rather be dead than face the wrath of The Warrior King for the misdeeds of yet another Arkham heir. One had almost perished under his watch. He would not be blamed for the other.

He had tracked her through thorny thickets and bounding brushes to a clearing about three quarters of a _verst_ away from camp. It had not been far but was most evidently out of sight. She had wandered a couple of _sazhens_ from John – still too far for his liking. In this neck of the woods, even an arm's length away from safety was still much too far for comfort. He would've kicked up a storm at her penchant for disobedience, especially when he was to bear the brunt of it, but he was already tired and aching and had not one whit of patience left when he had abruptly seized her by the arm.

Felicity had been terribly absorbed with gathering as much of the stinging nettle she would need for both Tommy and the High Prince to have heard his approach. Granted that his feet made naught a sound on the thick forest floor, but still, any soldier trained under the banner of the Realm should have been alert enough to his or, in this case, her surroundings.

Caught off-guard, she whirled at his touch, stepped on an exposed root and slipped. He tried to grab her and correct her fall but he had been too late. She had brought him down with her as she landed on her back, splayed disgracefully on the bush that stung and pricked and rankled.

"Blight you, you oaf!" she cursed as she struggled against the tangle of limbs and shrub she found herself in.

"Your Highness!" Sir John exclaimed as he heard her scream. His sword was drawn as he rushed to where he had seen the Princess fall, but he faltered as soon as he discovered that it was his commander who had caused the ruckus in the first place.

"Sheathe your sword," Oliver commanded, knowing that his knight would have had his weapon at the ready. He then turned his attention to the woman who was struggling beneath him. "Cease this thrashing, would you?" he said as he tried to free himself from her. He would've freed them already had she not made it worse.

The note of command in his voice had taken the flame from her ire. She would know that voice anywhere. But the realization that the High Prince was the bloody idiot who caused her fall had her struggling against him yet again.

"Enough! Exact your vengeance anon, if you must," Oliver decreed as he stilled her with enough of his weight and worked to free his sword belt from her satchel.

She did as he bade for the sake of expediency even if his tone had grated against her wounded pride. She was itching for that very chance at retribution he had offered.

But that chance never came to pass, for Oliver was every bit the gentleman he was born to be as he helped her up and apologized yet again for his miscalculation.

"My apologies, Princess," he said contritely as he surreptitiously checked her for any injury. Having found none more concerning than the sore bum she would surely have on the morrow, he continued, "But I will have to submit myself to your vengeance another time. Your father awaits you. He has instructed me to deliver you to his presence at once" – the threatening arch of her eyebrow had him warily clearing his throat and adding – "if you do allow me to escort you, that is."

"I am perfectly able to bring myself – "

She had taken a step back to have room enough to turn her back to him but she had slipped on the same root that had earlier taken them down.

Oliver, who had the benefit of quicker reflexes, stepped forward and caught her by the waist to prevent yet another fall. He held onto her tightly as he used his weight to counter her momentum.

Her breath caught at the contact as her face flushed.

His eyes wandered over to her parted lips but John's discreet cough reminded him of just how closely he was holding her. He abruptly let her go. "You were saying?"

She almost fell back at the suddenness of his release, but this time, her feet held. She straightened herself and raised her chin. "I _said_ that I am perfectly able to bring myself to my father's presence without your escort," she finished. And then she executed a flawless about face and quickly stalked away. She did not care a whit about leaving the men to scramble after her – and they did, but not before picking up the herbs she had left on the forest floor.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Felicity arrived quickly at the Kings' Tent. She hastened back towards camp not because of the urgency of her father's summons, but to escape the unexpected feeling that coursed through her body when Oliver had held her close. She may not have known what it was precisely, but she had felt her face flush and her body tremble. She closed her eyes, hoping to free herself of it, but she was startled yet again by his deep voice.

"Do you need a minute?" Oliver asked, his eyes on her. He might be trying his damnedest not to curse her stubbornness, especially when she had gone through the dense forest on her way back to camp without an adequate weapon or an armed escort, but he could understand the apprehension he thought he saw on her face. Facing Malcolm Merlyn, the Warrior King, was unnerving at the very least and downright petrifying when he was angry. Oliver should know. He had spent almost half of his wayward youth in the same position.

Felicity wasn't sure just exactly when he had caught up to her but he was standing not even an _arshin_ away, waiting for an answer. It irked her that he could move so swiftly, and yet so silently. His stealthy moves were going to be the death of her.

"Princess?" he prompted when she failed to give an answer.

Felicity exhaled slowly before she looked at him and shook her head.

"All right, then," he said as he made room for her and allowed her to precede him. He wasn't going to let her out of his sight – not before he was able to deliver her to her father's presence.

With another measured breath, Felicity squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and began to walk.

Oliver shook his head. He had already been treated to that willful display. _Oh, 'tis wont to be interesting,_ he sarcastically grumbled. He knew right then of the clash that was about to happen.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

The Kings' Tent, in any of its iterations, was a sight to behold. In times of war, it was a stronghold of power. In times of peace, a haven of comfort. And in times like these, _almost_ a delusion of grandeur.

It didn't make any sense to either Oliver or Felicity, what the blatant display of wealth really accomplished other than making themselves a bigger target for the notorious brigands of the Outlands – but such is the Way of Kings, and as such, cannot be questioned.

The sentry saluted them both as they made their way to the threshold. And just before they were hurriedly ushered into the inner sanctum, another sentry had announced their presence, "Your Majesties, Your Excellency, the High Prince, Oliver of Starling, and the Princess Royal, Felicity of Arkham."

And then they were met with stony silence.

An unspeakably angry King Malcolm was flanked on the dais by a silently disappointed King Robert to the right and a quietly reserved Quentin of Blüdhaven to the left. The rest of the Realm's most esteemed knights and the more distinguished nobles of the Kings' Party were also in mute attendance.

Oliver had expected this. The heavy and uncomfortable wall of silence had always been one of the best ways his father and King Malcolm employed to make him and Tommy sweat. It was a pretty reliable method to make their younger selves guiltily confess to their misdeeds, and he had learned over the years, that _this_ would be the best time to start atoning and groveling and making promises one intends to keep.

But the Princess stayed equally as silent. He thought that she was stubbornly refusing to be the first to yield.

Felicity, on her part, was just anxious to know the charges that were to be laid at her feet. She knew that with how shrewd her father was, it would serve her well to know first what he was thinking to determine how best to counter it.

The silence stretched and stretched and stretched until King Malcolm was forced to break it. "It is obvious with your presence here, that you have disobeyed a direct order," he said with quiet fury. His gaze was sternly focused on his daughter, before he thundered. "And this gross insubordination will not stand."

Oliver knew that while King Malcolm was strict – rigorously strict – he was almost always fair, except of course, when he was angry. And it was plain to see that this was a man who was past the point of fatherly exasperation. He winced inwardly. This was not going to be pretty.

"Provost Marshal!" The King called as he stood to his full height.

 _That was new_ , Oliver pondered. He looked at his father and saw the alarm in King Robert's face. _Definitely not good._

Sir Walter Steele, who was one of The Realm's most distinguished knights, stepped forward. "Yes, Your Majesty!"

"Dame Commander Felicity of Arkham," Malcolm bellowed as he refocused his attention to his daughter, "you are to be stripped of your rank and all its attendant responsibilities. You shall surrender your sword and your spurs to the Provost Marshal…"

 _Oh, Frak!_ Felicity silently cursed. She had not expected that. In truth, she had really needed to get away from all the fussing and frippery that surrounded the Lady Laurel and her upcoming nuptials to Tommy. She had nothing against her brother's fiancée but being constantly assailed with question upon question about banquets, fabrics, drapery, crystals and cutlery had made her realize that she was way out of her depth. She didn't want to look the fool and let Tommy down. So she had taken to her horse and fled. But this – this was wholly unexpected and it had her reeling.

"A point of order, King Malcolm," Robert interrupted, as he registered the stunned look on Felicity's face. "If I am not mistaken, any executive command made in a military capacity concerning all of The Realm during a time of peace has to be seconded before it is carried. And as the only other King of the Realm in attendance and as the only person of sufficient standing to second this motion, I endeavor that the Dame Commander be allowed to speak or failing that, to have someone speak on her behalf." Robert had to do something quickly and this was the best he could. His motion stalled the proceeding and would not necessarily change the outcome but he would be loathed before his goddaughter was stripped of a rank she had worked so hard for – well, that and the fact that he had valued and continued to value her aptitude as Comptroller – without every benefit of the doubt. She was much better for The Realm's collective purse than Oliver ever was.

The point of order had taken the wind out of Malcolm's anger but it definitely did not quell it. But he was forced to acknowledge the rules and so had pronounced, "Speak! Any of you! Speak now or let my verdict stand!"

Felicity remained mute, still stupefied by the fact that her father would remove her from the only way of living she had ever known her entire life.

 _God's Wounds!_ Oliver mentally interjected at her and the crowd's continued silence. It would be a cold day in hell before he would assume the Comptrollership of The Realm again. He was a soldier, not an accountant – and that had him stepping forward and addressing the furious Warrior King, "Your Majesty" – the rage in the King's gaze as it locked unto him had him clearing his throat – "There are mitigating circumstances I would like to present."

Robert's gaze had also snapped to his son. Oliver was the last person he'd think to willingly defend her. As far as he knew, Felicity was not exactly a pebble in his son's sea of women for Oliver to bother himself with her.

Oliver thought it best to continue at King Malcolm's silent but fierce regard, "The offense, Your Majesty, was done, not in her capacity as Dame Commander, but as Princess Royal. The Rules of the Outlands preclude a woman from holding any military office and so precludes her from carrying out her duties and responsibilities as Dame Commander while within its jurisdiction.

The other is that if it had not been for your daughter's timely and proficient intervention, then, your son, Prince Thomas of Arkham would have ceased to be."

"Provost Marshall?" Malcolm asked the knight responsible for keeping order within the ranks for a ruling.

"The first claim is in accordance with the law, Your Majesty, and the second, in accordance with stated and corroborated fact," Sir Walter ruled. He had investigated the matter of the Princess Royal's involvement in the earlier incident. All those who had witnessed it agreed that her actions were timely and instrumental in saving her brother from certain death. "But the prerogative to withdraw the command is yours."

That had Malcolm Merlyn pacing and everyone else at the edge of their proverbial seats.

 _Surely, he would reconsider,_ Robert thought. He knew his friend had a fiery temper but he also knew that Malcolm loved his daughter. He had an odd way of showing it, but his friend would rather die than see his daughter harmed in any way. The warrior had confessed to him not long ago, albeit in a drunken stupor, that it was the very reason why he drove Felicity to be the best soldier she could be.

 _Please, please, please,_ Felicity hoped.

 _Please, please, please,_ Oliver pleaded.

Malcolm took a deep breath. The edge of anger in his voice was still plain when he addressed his daughter while shaking his head. "Sometimes, I just don't know what to do with you," he clucked.

And then to Sir Walter and the rest of the crowd, he said, "But in light of these facts, I withdraw the command and instead remand the custody of the Princess Royal to the High Prince, Master Knight Commander Oliver of Starling until further notice and that her rations be withheld until my say so."

Robert quickly jumped in before his friend changed his mind, "I second the motion."

Malcolm acknowledged his friend's agreement. "Provost Marshal, the motion is carried. Please see to it."

 _Oh, hell no!_ Oliver grumbled under his breath. It was his turn to get exasperated. He should've held his goddamned tongue.

Unknown to Oliver, Felicity had heard his muttered complaint. She laughed quietly and bitterly at that because she knew that if it were left to any man excluding her brother, he would not have wanted anything to do with her. But between this and being stripped of her spurs, she would much rather accept this punishment. After all, there was still some fun to be had in driving her new jailer stark raving mad.

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Notes:

1 _arshin_ : 28 inches

1 _sazhen_ : 7 feet

1 _verst_ : 0.663 miles

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Hope you liked it! Comments/reviews/follows/faves are always welcome! Oh, and I'm welcoming suggestions of scenes you'd like to see or tropes you want the characters to play out, so don't forget to let me know what you think. Kisses!


	3. Trouble Is As Trouble Does

Finally, another chapter! Here's a shout out to those who suggested some scenes and tropes! Hope you like how this goes! XOXO

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Chapter 3

Oliver had long prided himself with the ability to slumber anywhere and yet be ready for battle the next moment. But the years of his capture and torment had changed all that. Nightmares had plagued his sleep, and he had rarely, if ever, slept through the night.

So, 'twas unusual, to say the least, that he found himself stirring from a restful sleep.

Yesterday had been mostly fun but exhausting. He, Tommy and their men had arisen before dawn to start the hunt and had immersed themselves fully in the rigor of the sport. His wolfhound, _Shadow_ , had led the rest in giving chase to two strong, majestic harts that he had later felled with his bow, while Tommy's peregrine falcon, _Tempest_ , had taken down all sorts of small game. He had enjoyed it, basked in it even. They may have yet to spot the hunt's grandest prize – Blüdhaven's beast, the _Wilderbär_ – but he had taken his leisure in the exercise. That is, _of course_ , until they had disturbed a belligerent hive.

 _Tommy!_

He quickly looked to his right at the memory, only to find his friend still dozing. _All is well_ , his waking brain thought.

And it was all well because of Tommy's sister, the troublesome Princess Felicity. He internally shook his head. _That woman was more trouble than she was worth_. But he did owe her a debt of gratitude for saving his friend and for treating his wounds. Once the uproar in the wake of the Kings' decision had died down, the Princess had actually seen to his injuries once again by rubbing the essence of stinging nettle and aloe upon the throbbing stings on his neck. He had been vastly relieved by that. And far be it from Oliver to deprive the woman – any woman – of a proper bed, it seemed that he had done just that as he found himself to be the one lying on the cot. And the woman in question – he pondered as he looked around – _was nowhere in sight!_

He bolted upright at the realization.

 _Damnation!_

xxxxXXXXxxxx

 _That it had been an uncomfortable night was an understatement_ , Felicity thought as she rested. It was a new day and yet she was already exhausted. She had slept brokenly on a pallet on the ground until midnight, rousing from sleep almost every hour to check on Tommy amid the aches and pains that her body had protested.

It was unfortunate that Master Lockhart, her father's most trusted, and to her mind, most able Physician, was away in Starling. Without him, her brother's care had been left to her and a lowly _physicker_ from the Chief's retinue. She had nothing against the healer, but his pharmacopoeia, she found, had been more than occasionally wanting.

So, over the course of last night, she had to teach the elderly man to compound several tinctures of medicinal herbs and half-a-score of teas, salves and essences they needed for Tommy's treatment. The High Prince's intense and intimidating presence did not help. His keeping a close and watchful eye had spooked the old man to no end – so much so, that she knew that if the poor man were to catch even one of those royally deathly stares, there was no question of him dropping dead.

As it happened, she had also noticed Tommy beginning to surface from his slumber – a development which she would rather avoid, given his tendency to struggle against his own breath. She had to think quickly then, about how best to keep him sedated. A repeat of her little trick upon his neck would not suffice by then.

Luckily for her, she had discovered a small bottle of henbane in the healer's chest. The tincture was crudely made from the looks of it, so she had to worry about just how much to give her patient. She had needed him asleep, not lifeless.

And so her eyes had fallen to her immovable warden.

Oliver of Starling outweighed her brother by two stone in the least. She had reckoned that if she gave him a drop and he went down like a goat-in-a-fright, she would have to take caution in giving the same to her brother.

So she had convinced herself that she would be risking Tommy's life without this little investigation, and that she would also be doing the High Prince a favor since she had seen with her own eyes, the shadows underneath his and had known from Tommy that he rarely, if ever, slept and not soundly through all these nights. _Besides,_ she told herself, _if she were really malicious, she'd be having a purgative in mind._

That the act she was about to perpetrate upon her unsuspecting jailer could be considered high treason was an afterthought. That it would ease the jitters of the _physicker_ , just happenstance. That it would free her from _his_ presence, pure luck.

And so she had _lost_ a drop of the tincture into a cup of the chamomile tea she had brewed to ease the ache of his wounds and had bidden him to take it.

"Drink," she had commanded. At the inquiring tilt of Oliver's head, she had spoken, "For the stings."

After having been previously treated to her soothing ministrations, he had taken the cup and sipped its contents with neither question nor qualm. Her eyes had stayed on him until he finished and it had not taken long for him to seek the comfort of the only available cot.

Her mind had cheered at that, for her efforts had not been for naught. Half the triumph she had sought had been, by then, already won.

After administering a drop of the rightfully diluted tincture upon Tommy's left eye, she had again pretended to sleep and waited for the rest to slumber.

Then she had made good her escape and now found herself unencumbered by her unwanted jailer.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Oliver, for the second time in as many days, was beset with a kind of aggravation that set his teeth on edge.

A hasty survey of his tent had showed him that the woman's pallet was cold and a quick look at the immediate surroundings had yielded no sign of a forceful exit. The lack of bustling activity outside had told him that the Kings still rested and he'd rather not sound _that_ alarm lest he be hanged for failing his special assignment _._

He had next looked over to where the animals had been driven and had found that the white beast Drago was still securely fastened. That meant the Lady had gone on foot, and judging from the still pale light of the early dawn, she probably had not gotten far, _that is,_ unless she had truly hastened.

He had elected against rousing his men. After all, the Princess might just have escaped for morning toilette. But he still donned his leather cuirass and secured his sword because, in his mind, anything could still happen.

He had also been tempted to bring with him some iron shackles but decided that with them, the Princess would just blow whatever peace he may have left to pieces. Truthfully, he would just as soon fling her over his shoulder and lug her around like a sack if need be. He was way past the point of any equanimity.

He had then left camp and started by moving North to the body of water nearest the grounds, but found no sign of her as he scanned the lake's edges. He reversed course and headed to the forest, hoping to catch her upstream instead. He had guessed right, it seemed, for it wasn't long before he caught her spoor and followed it into the lushness.

Little by little, he gained ground, that is, until he came to a secluded terrain that was shielded by the wild underbrush. He was already a _verst_ away from camp by then and had already lost her tracks. He gritted his teeth and prayed for more patience.

He wandered a little to check for other paths but found none. He shook his head when he realized that he had no choice but to hack his way through the primitive wildness. He hadn't wanted to but if that was what it took to be done with this ungodly chore, then so be it. And so he whacked and thwacked and smacked at the thickets.

He succeeded then in hewing a small opening against the thick foliage. But before he could rejoice at his small and empty accomplishment, he caught the unmistakable whiff of smoke. He may not have seen it but he damn well smelled it. And any sign of fire in these places only meant one thing: _He had company._

So, he advanced into the void in measured paces.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Although Felicity had made every effort to hide and cloak and conceal herself at the first thwack she had heard from the bushes and had already readied in her hands, her _shuriken_ , she was not surprised in the least that the intruder was the High Prince himself. Truth was she had been expecting him. No one came up against a Master Scout and trusted not to be found, no matter how hard one tried to throw him off one's tracks. And she had left plenty for him to follow, she would imagine, in her hurry to leave camp to get a good bath and to finally break her fast.

In truth she had planned on coming back to camp just before everybody rose but she had fallen asleep on her perch, after a soothing wash in a little, bubbling brook and while waiting for her meal to slowly cook. She had been lucky to trap and catch a rabbit that she proceeded to skin and roast and eat and swallow. But at that point, her brain had known, that any continued defiance was regrettably and unspeakably shallow.

She sighed as she conceded. She had had a decent meal and had made a few strips of jerky for later, so she saw that it was best to soon be done with this impending quarrel.

 _Oh, this ought to be a hoot!_ Her conscience lamented.

"Good Morrow, Your Highness!" she called out as she chose to reveal herself from her hiding place. She knew without a doubt that he would be seething, but she resolved that she would endure it. After all, she could have just placed his head on a noose with her latest jaunt. _But still, it wouldn't hurt to make nice_ , she decided.

"I trust you slept well?" she asked with a knowing smile, as she gathered the strips of rabbit meat she had left to cure on her now extinguished makeshift pyre.

Oliver, on his part, just stared at her dumbfounded. He had taken not ten steps into the small clearing when he stopped mid-stride at the rustling by the brushes. He only had to look…

And there she was – _the bane of his existence!_

His brain could not, for the life of him, fathom how she could act so blasé, unperturbed and guiltless. He was sorely tempted to leave her here, in the wilderness, but he couldn't, lest he wanted to be hanged for an offense he had not committed.

" _You!_ " he exclaimed at his anger's resurgence. He sheathed his broadsword right then to keep from unleashing it with vehemence.

"Me?" Felicity asked as she feigned indifference. She had seen this look on him before and it harkened the advent of such a terrible menace.

In a fit of pique, Oliver resolved to do as he previously cogitated. The camp was a long ways away and he would brook no quarter until then. He would carry her home as he had earlier intended.

Felicity saw the look in his eyes harden and had half a brain to step back and run. But her body stood rooted to the ground as the big lug of a man started to rush into her presence.

And before she knew it, she had been flung like a sack and slung upon his back.

She kicked and screamed and writhed and wriggled as she found herself so horribly treated. And proceeded to cuss and swear and spit as she imprecated, "You insufferable oaf! You reprehensible cad! You ignominious jerk! You beast of a man! You..."

But Oliver kept on walking despite her futile struggles and her mad rant.

He smiled.

He could feel his final triumph… _and it was oh so close at hand!_

* * *

Notes:

 **hart** n. _sing._ : A male deer, particularly a red deer stag over five years old

 **pharmacopoeia** n. _sing._ : A collection or stock of drugs

 **physicker** n. _sing._ : A practitioner of Roman medicine

 **shuriken** n. _sing. pl._ : Concealed, hand-held blades of Japanese origin, more commonly known in modernity as throwing stars or ninja stars (and in this case, a gift to the Princess from the Realm's Chief War Engineer, The Knight Commander Prince Raymond of Ivy)

 **spoor** n. _sing._ : A track or trail left by an animal or person

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Don't forget to let me know what you think! Those who leave reviews always get a special thank you from me. Kisses!


	4. Can't Run Away from Trouble

I finally got a chapter down! Thank you to all of you who've read this and continue to read this! And here's me giving some extra love to all those who've left kudos and comments ❤️❤️❤️! This work continues because of all of you! So, without further ado, the latest chapter! Hope you enjoy! XOXO

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Chapter 4

Oliver took Felicity's silence as a sign of acquiescence. If he knew what was actually running through her mind, he'd have a mind to say otherwise.

Felicity was nearing desperation. She had dedicated all the time after she had exhausted her veritable vocabulary of curses to figuring out a way to get herself away from this giant brute of a man. She had tried several moves to free herself from his hold but despite the elbow to the noggin and a kick to his side, the big lug had proven himself formidable to her less than substantial attacks. He had effectively neutralized any advantage she might have had for an effective strike by virtue of the way he had trapped her between his shoulders and arms. She had been caught well and good and it irked her to no end.

She internally huffed. She was running out of time. If the thinning of the underbrush was any indication, they would be approaching the camp in less than a hundred paces. She'd rather die than endure the ignominy of being so horribly treated. She wouldn't live down the shame of having been seen in such dire straits.

And then an idea had burst to the fore of her stress-addled brain. Sara, Laurel's younger sister, had said something about an old yet time-honored Blüdhaven custom of men kidnapping their future brides.

"Unhand me or see yourself bound to me in marriage!" Felicity spat as she quickly leveraged the only thing she knew he would hate more than anything else.

Oliver shook his head incredulously and threatened, "And you have to cease this nonsense, lest you want yourself bound to anything _but_ shackles and be barred from Tommy's presence." _He's had it with her. He's had it with this._

"She's right you know," said a voice from behind them. "Around these parts, 'tis enough to be seen in such a compromising pose and be pronounced as lawfully wedded."

Felicity felt herself tumble to the ground as Oliver summarily dropped her faster than he could a hot potato. They both turned to where the voice had come from – and there preparing to mount his fine Arabian courser was none other than Quentin, Chief of Blüdhaven.

Oliver found himself speechless yet again. He never won with her. _Never._

"And you young lady should not make it harder upon yourself. No peace would be brokered while you two bicker," the Chief chastised as he bid his horse forward. "Your fathers await you," he said and once he had his back to them, he warned, "I'd hurry along if I were you lest you want _me_ to see yourselves bound in _unholy_ matrimony."

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Malcolm looked at his son. If one was not privy to the details of Tommy's continuing brush with death, one would have thought, if not for the breathing tube that stuck out oddly from his neck, that he was just in the middle of a restful slumber. The King sighed. It was like looking at his younger self and he couldn't fathom the injustice of it all. His children's mother was taken from him too soon. And now, Tommy, whose looks had always favored him and reminded him of happier times, was lying on a makeshift bed fighting for his life. He had honed his children, almost from the cradle in the art of war, and yet his son had fallen victim to an insect.

 _'Twas unfair_ , was all his mind had managed to say, _for Tommy, who, in all the warriors he had trained in his day, had stood out from the crush by being the best at making peace, to have fallen in a time of relative quiet._

 _I'm sorry, my love_ , he whispered as he rubbed the talisman around his neck – his wife's ring, reforged to entwine with his own and secured in a fine golden chain around his neck since the day he had lost her. He had promised to keep them all safe. He had failed once with her and now again with their son.

The ruckus from outside pulled him from his introspection. If his instincts were right, his daughter and Oliver had just made their way back from wherever Oliver had found her. He shook his head. His daughter was so much more like him than her mother – stubborn to a fault – and he loved her all the more for it. Felicity had a knack of sticking to the letter, not the spirit of whatever you threw at her – not because she was being contrary but because his daughter was smart, cunning even. But he was beginning to regret the independence he had unwittingly granted her by allowing her the daring of a soldier.

He remembered the cold dread that had spread to his chest when he first heard about his son's accident, but it was his daughter's defiance that had lit his anger and spurred him to their camp post haste. Save for _that_ time twenty years ago, he had never felt fear _and_ anger to that almost insurmountable degree. However, now that his anger had somewhat abated, he was thankful that his daughter had made it just in time to stave off his son's death.

He had re-assumed the air of austere authority which had made him more King than Warrior, just as shadows had darkened the tent's opening. And as he saw the pout Felicity wore plainly in her face, it seemed that he had made the right choice in Oliver Queen to protect her from herself. He had his qualms about one of his best commanders, not because he doubted his skill as a formidable warrior but because he knew that his foster son's well-known appellation as 'The Arrow of Starling' had arisen more from his notoriety with women than his prowess with a bow.

At his silent regard, both Oliver and Felicity stood a little straighter and the air turned taut with expectation.

"Speak," he demanded.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

There had been an unspoken and uneasy truce between them ever since their encounter with the Chief. Once they'd given their respective reports, first to King Malcolm, and then to King Robert, without, of course, divulging the details of their more-than-eventful morning jaunt, they'd both steered clear of each other as best they could. But when Tommy took a turn for the worse later in the day and well into the next, it became, in equal parts, both easier and harder to avoid each other – easier for Felicity to avoid Oliver as she devoted all her energies to saving her brother, but harder for Oliver to ignore how vital she was to keeping Tommy and the accord alive. So he had helped anyway he could whenever he wasn't summoned by the Kings for something or other.

Night had fallen on what should have been the third day of the hunt. Felicity had not left Tommy's side since she had gotten back from her morning away from camp. If it had not been for the physicker's insistence on using a clyster to force some fluid and nutrients on their patient, she would not have left her brother's side at all. So, since every man inside that tent deemed it unseemly for a woman of her station to witness such a scatological act (no matter how necessary it was, to her mind, for her to supervise), she had no recourse but to leave the tent and sit miserably by the abandoned campfire.

She was startled when Oliver settled beside her with a flagon of fair water and a plate filled with slices of spit-roasted venison slathered in a rich sauce of red wine and wild mushrooms, a roll of manchet and morsels of payn ragoun. _No doubt to tempt and whet her appetite,_ her mind grumbled.

He laid the flagon and the plate between them, and then produced a washcloth, an eating dagger and a two-pronged fork. He soaked the wash cloth with water, cleaned his hands and proceeded to cut the venison into more manageable sizes. Once done, he passed her the washcloth and commanded, "Eat."

 _What?_

At her puzzled reaction and continued inaction, Oliver ordered yet again, "Eat."

"But… but… my father's orders… my… my rations…" she stuttered in disbelief.

"He said naught about mine," he replied as he broke the bread. Oliver knew as soon as he had exited the tent and saw her dejected form by the fire pit that she was beyond exhausted. In his best estimation, she had neither food nor drink since yesterday's rabbit and the few cups of tea he had been able to impose on her, and it showed. So, he had gone to the cook's pavilion to retrieve his rations. "Don't make me ask again," he said as he handed her his fork.

Felicity wiped her hands on the wet rag and quickly took the fork he offered. She trembled a little, not just because of the previously forgotten hunger that suddenly clawed at her stomach, but also because of the intensity of his stare. He looked like he would just as soon be the one to stuff food into her mouth if she didn't do anything about it soon, so she started to do what he wanted.

Oliver was flabbergasted at the amount of food she managed to get down in such a short amount of time. He had wanted her to eat, not choke.

"You really like your venison, don't you?" he commented in a poor attempt to slow her down.

She nodded as she valiantly tried not to let on that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

It was obvious to him that she was struggling so he decided to swoop in and do something about it.

She shook her head at first, making him pause, but after a beat she began frantically nodding her head.

He laughed heartily at that and started to help her get the food down, or in this case, out.

"Thank you," Felicity said as soon as Oliver gave her back a good enough wallop to dislodge the piece of meat that had lodged into her throat.

"It was that good, huh?" Oliver said, smiling as he continued to pat her back.

"Cook did not disappoint," she answered as she sputtered some more.

Her mutinous expression despite the praise cracked him up yet again. And Felicity, who found herself newly relieved of such an absurd situation found it just as easy to laugh it off with him.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Robert had just left Malcolm, who refused to leave his son to the physicker without his daughter to oversee the procedure, inside the tent. There were a great many things that have to be planned and thought of in the event of the collapse of this accord with Blüdhaven should Tommy not survive the night. It was a cruel responsibility to foist upon a distraught father and it had been a responsibility Malcolm had taken upon himself when Robert was the one in an impossible situation. It was only right that he take up the mantle for his friend.

As he left the tent for the open night air, the unusual sound of deep laughter drew his attention to the fire pit.

He had forgotten the last time he had felt his son's joy. Oliver had always been a nice enough kid with a little mischief on the side, but it was his spirit that made him shine. His son had always run lose and always had a lusty love for life. But ever since Oliver had gotten home from his time in captivity, Robert knew that his son had lost his spark. Oliver had tried his hardest to convince everyone else that he was fine when everyone knew that he wasn't. He himself had found his son branded – a prince branded as a slave – and that had lanced a wound in his heart that will never quite heal. But the sound of his laughter had been a salve.

Felicity's ringing laughter came into the mix. To anyone else, it would seem odd that laughter was resonating in such a time like this, but to him, it was a balm to the heart. _That_ , he contemplated wistfully, _was a wedding he would gladly look forward to_. With a thankful look to the stars that shone brightly on such a dismal night, he let them be and headed back to the necessary business that awaited him.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

When their hilarity had died down, Oliver settled back into his side and Felicity went back to hers. The quiet had grown between them again and the night spoke once more to their fears.

"Do you think Tommy will make it?" Oliver asked her.

Felicity took a deep breath before she looked at her brother's dearest friend. Oliver Queen, to her, had always exuded an aura of implacable confidence. There was none of that now, only an uncertain diffidence.

She didn't know what urged her to lay her hand upon his or what led him to twine their fingers. Maybe it was a plea for comfort, maybe a gesture of fear. But all she knew was that it had given them both a shot of much needed hope. "Tommy always did find a way to get out of larger scrapes than this," she said quietly, not knowing who exactly she was trying to convince.

He squeezed her hand and agreed as he whispered, "Yes… yes, he always did."

* * *

Notes:

 **clyster** n. (sing.): archaic term for an enema

 **manchet** n. (sing.): a single serving piece of white bread sized to fit in the hand

 **payn ragoun** n. (sing.): medieval fudge-like candy flavored with honey, ground ginger and pine nuts

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Was this a little too maudlin or did I get it just right? Please feel free to tell me what you think! Faves/Follows/Reviews are always welcome! Kisses!


	5. The Brewing Trouble

It has been awhile. I'm sorry it takes too long for me to finish a chapter. Free time isn't as abundant as it used to be, but I do labor on it. This particular chapter took months and I hope you enjoy it enough to excuse the delay.

You know the drill, my lovelies! XOXO

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Chapter 5

Oliver bolted up at the shriek, his sword at the ready. His heart pounded as his waking brain tried to identify the threat. But there was nothing it could immediately register as danger. He took a moment to shake the remaining wisps of a thankfully dreamless sleep.

He found himself in Tommy's tent - yet again, having woken on the cot. He had tried to stay up with Felicity, to keep vigil at Tommy's side. He really did. But alas! It seemed he had once again found an unusually deep slumber.

He tried to focus his mind on what had roused him. It was a woman's scream. A woman.

 _Felicity!_

His eyes frantically searched for her and fell on her form beside Tommy's bed. There was nothing unusual with her being there. What was unusual was how she seemed so distraught, how she seemed to be hunched over her brother with her shoulders heaving as though she were crying.

 _No! It could not be. 'Tis not right._

He almost didn't want to get up for fear of what he would discover but he had to know. He had to know about Tommy. So, he rose from bed and approached her cautiously.

"Felicity…" he called to her solemnly.

But before he could've spoken another word, she had risen and launched herself into his arms.

His own gut plummeted right then. And his arms folded around her of their own accord.

At the heave of her first breath, sound had fled him – numbed him to the world as it collapsed into a tiny, miniscule point of light. He saw nothing, heard nothing.

It was her voice that broke the shell that surrounded him.

"Oliver," she said as she raised her tear-stained face towards him.

Nothing could have prepared him for the words that next left her lips.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

It was early for either of them to be up and about but both Malcolm and Robert had nary a night's rest. Today harkened the end of the hunt and it portended the ratification of the alliance between Blüdhaven and the Realm - but 'tis only and only if Tommy survived.

 _Mayhap the fates will be kind_ , Robert thought.

Malcolm, though, was more guarded in his expectations. The fates had taken too much from him for him to expect any different. His life had almost always fallen by the widdershins – a bastard first and an orphan later, a soldier, a mercenary, a pauper, a king, a man with two names. Nothing, but nothing came to him easily. Whatever happiness he had in his life, he had paid for with blood. Whatever comfort, with pain.

He wondered why in the blazes he had wanted to be King when he was younger and sighed. Now, he needed to face the political ramifications of a broken treaty in the same time he had to contemplate the possible loss of his son.

Robert had presented him earlier with the only options they had left, and they seem to have come to the same conclusion: the only other way to stave off the pressures from this side of the Outlands was to marry another one of the remaining princes of the Realm to Quentin's daughter. Robert had elected Raymond of Ivy, citing the trade volume they'd get and the efficiency with which they can effect it given the land's relative proximity to the Outlands compared to their other realms. That they could have the prince here on the morrow if they sent for him post haste was merely frosting on the cake. It was easier to negotiate a delay in fulfilling the terms of the accord, his friend emphasized, than for them to default entirely.

 _It was just like Robert to call for the most profitable option_ , Malcolm mulled. But what his friend oft forgot was that for all that to happen, they needed peace – and peace was just one of the many things Blüdhaven had in short supply. No. In a place where everything can change in a blink of an eye, he needed someone here whose instincts he trusted, someone who could act swiftly, and if need be, brutally. Raymond, though trusted as his war engineer, was gifted with a robust intellect but given to imaginative rumination and most disadvantageously, to mercy.

That left, to his mind, the choice betwixt his best commanders – Bruce of Gotham and Oliver of Starling. Bruce had the makings of a master strategist. Cunning, intelligent and decisive, Malcolm had long entertained the idea of marrying Felicity off to their navy's Master Knight Commander, thinking that if there was someone who could outfox his equally shrewd and spirited daughter, the Dark Knight of Gotham would be it. He was loathed to leverage Felicity's only chance at a family but what galled him more would be the loss of their fleet's only remaining commander if Tommy…

He let out another shuddering breath. Bruce would not do. His seafaring skills would be lost in this land-locked territory and he would come to resent it. Tommy, while oft acting as Bruce's second-in-command of the Realm's fleet, had the advantage of the Chieftain's daughter's regard and the diplomatic skills that would be valuable in such a volatile arena. Once more, Gotham's prince was away on mission and could not be present in time to fulfill the treaty.

That left him with the only other choice.

 _It had to be Oliver._ His training as a scout made him indispensable in this environment, his tactical dexterity almost unparalleled. But what Malcolm treasured was the almost unforgiving brutality that his foster son seemed newly capable of. It simmered underneath the lazy, lackadaisical façade that Oliver tried to keep for the benefit of those around him, but it was there. There was a new layer of ruthlessness in him – a savagery that was measured, controlled, never, to his knowledge, directed against someone whom Oliver thought didn't deserve it.

Malcolm had seen it with his own eyes. Leashed it was formidable but unleashed, it would be downright fearsome. And where he could not have peace, he'd have fear.

So he made his decision.

But before Malcolm could broach the topic with Robert, a shrill scream rent the still morning air – and with that, what little morsel of quiet he had hoped he could find.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Felicity was overcome with feeling. She did not really know how to quell it – that is until she found herself ensconced in Oliver Queen's arms. Her world had righted then. Her heart slowed. Her mind focused.

But something was amiss. He held her stiffly, his stance rigid. She lifted her eyes to discover his stunned expression.

"Oliver," she repeated as she reached up and used both of her hands to turn his face more towards her.

He blinked once, like he couldn't quite fathom that she was speaking.

"He lives," she said. He continued to stare at her unbelievingly, his brain still mired in the dissonance between her tear-stained face and her seemingly joyous news. It was only when she started brushing her thumbs over his cheeks that he regained a grip on reality.

"Tommy's alive," he finally heard. To Oliver, the relief was visceral. He felt his body shudder… his knees buckle… his breath stutter and before he knew it, his body was drifting towards her. It was just at the last moment that he caught himself, but it was too late anyway. He was able to right himself enough though to keep from bringing her down with him – only and just barely. He found his face buried against the raven mass that was her hair, with her arms coming around him more fully to steady him.

And because the strength hadn't come back to his legs quite yet, he allowed his body to gain from her what it needed. He took a deep breath to steady himself and without even knowing it, he had buried his face deeper into her hair.

"Oliver?" he heard after a few moments of silence. He was beginning to like the sound of his name from her lips. "Oliver?" she repeated, this time with a girlish giggle.

"What?" he managed to grumble through her hair.

He was answered by clear, tinkling laughter. "Your beard... it tickles."

Felicity felt him chuckle into her hair. There was a rusty ring to it that she found she liked. But before she could examine her thoughts further about any of that, he brushed his beard over her ear yet again. "O-li-ver!"

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Robert would not have believed his ears if he hadn't seen what his eyes were seeing. Zounds, he could scarcely believe his eyes right then! But Malcolm was far too concerned with the fate of his son to notice.

"What in the blazes are you screaming about?" Malcolm exclaimed as he entered the tent right behind Robert, who looked veritably stunned.

"Papa!" Felicity called out, as she extricated herself from Oliver's embrace.

Oliver felt a little twinge in his chest - one which he would only identify much, much later as disappointment - when she left his arms and launched herself unto her father next.

All Malcolm noticed as Felicity fell into his arms, however, was how she had called him. She only ever reverted back to her childhood tendency of calling him that - instead of "Father" or "Your Majesty" - when she was legitimately distraught, or else, when she was too overcome with feeling. Rarer still was her willingness to seek comfort from him, so he pulled her closer as he wordlessly dreaded the answer to his question and tried to keep his heart from jumping into his throat.

"Tommy's going to make it, Papa," she said as she gratefully welcomed the strength her father's embrace conferred to her. "He's able to breath on his own, without help from the tube."

xxxxXXXXxxxx

All the commotion seemed to have gotten a rise from their patient.

Tommy stirred to the sounds of jubilation. He took stock of his limbs as he tried to rise from bed. But his eyes were heavy and his body was stiff. And when he tried to speak, all he ever managed was a croak.

 _What in tarnation?_

On his second attempt, a coughing fit threatened to macerate his neck. That was when cool soothing hands tried to settle him.

"Thomas," he heard a voice say. It was familiar but not from someone he could yet place. "Tommy, I need you to clear your throat."

That was when he felt the cold bite of steel within his windpipe. It moved and then it tickled the back of his throat. The cough reflex took over then and before he knew it, air was hissing out of his neck. He panicked but strong arms held him down.

"Breathe, Tommy," came the voice yet again as a damp cloth was pressed against his windpipe. "Just breathe."

It took a few minutes for him to finally set his breath to a steady rhythm. It was only then that he attempted to open his eyes.

As the haze cleared with yet another blink, he found his sister in front of him, Oliver holding his shoulders down and his father and King Robert hovering on the side.

Felicity gave a shriek of relief and proceeded to slap him on the chest - and it was a good enough wallop for him to cough again.

"You are not allowed to frighten me that way ever again, Thomas Arthur Merlyn!" she admonished even as she soothed his chest with one hand while keeping his wound covered with the other. "You hear me?"

Tommy just nodded despite his confusion. But his nod was enough for his sister to start peppering his face with kisses.

"Felicity!" he managed to croak out as he got lost in her hair.

"Sorry," she said as she laid one last kiss on his brow before transferring to his side.

"You gave us quite the scare, Tommy," Oliver said as he lifted his weight from his friend's shoulders.

Tommy took a moment to review just what had transpired. His brain could recall little. Not being able to breath while on the ground was the last of what he remembered.

"What day is it?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. It burned to speak.

"Fourth day of the hunt," his father answered.

That had him trying to sit up. Oh, how his body hurt but today was supposedly the day the handfasting ceremony was due. It made his upcoming nuptials official and set the stage for his formal proposal to his affianced bride.

"Ho! Take it slow," Oliver said as he took the brunt of Tommy's weight to help him sit up. Felicity on her part tried to adjust her hand with his movement. She needed the hole covered until the antiseptic had fully made its way through the full thickness of the wound. She will have to stitch it up later, though. But she was loathed to put her brother out again so soon after having woken.

"Where's Laurel?" It was the only question Tommy's mind cared about - well, that and his pants.

"On her way here. Quentin will arrive with her shortly," Robert supplied.

It took so much from him to even sit then that he took a moment to lean on Oliver.

"You're not thinking of pushing through with it right now, are you?" Felicity asked as she rightly guessed where her brother's brain was at. "Might I remind you that you can barely sit, let alone stand. You will only benefit from postponing the handfasting until you can properly partake in the feast that follows it."

Oliver felt the tension pool in his friend's body. Tommy did not like the idea one bit. And the challenge Felicity saw in her brother's eyes made it clear as day.

"Well, I'll be damned," Felicity hissed as she shook her head and threw the rag she was holding at Tommy's face. "You'll undo all the work I've poured into keeping you alive these past three days, for what? So you could pretend to be strong in front of the people who would just as soon hang you for any and all weakness? A weakness, mind you, that you make plain at this very instant?"

"Felicity," Tommy warned, even though speaking flayed his throat raw. There were consequences if he didn't push through with this as planned. He would be undermining himself and his authority if he is perceived to be weak in any way. In this realm, the projection of power is just as important as the power itself. Titles themselves don't hold meaning unless successfully wielded and defended.

"Don't Felicity me!" she spat. _Men!_ She thought as she clenched her fingers in mordant rage. _Seriously, the world goes to war on the whims of men!_

"Felicity," Tommy sighed. He was never any proof against his sister. He promised his mother that he would mind his sister's every happiness. And he kept his word. He always did in that regard. "I know the dangers I face. I would not want it visited upon another. Not you, especially."

It was not, however, reason enough for Felicity. "And what of you, then?" she challenged. She would be loathed to lose the only other person she had left in this world. "You are not in any state to parade around or eat, for that matter. You can barely speak as it is. What happens when you keel over during the ceremony or choke on your mutton? Should I be expected to save you from your stubbornness?"

"Enough!" Malcolm bellowed. "Felicity, stitch your brother up and be done with it. Tommy, you better make sure that you're up for this. We cannot afford to break protocol once the ceremony is set in motion."

At Felicity's raging stillness and Tommy's terse nod, Malcolm left the tent to attend to the business of putting everything in place. Robert followed him out without much ado, and just like that, the three were left in taut silence.

When it looked like Tommy was about to speak again, it took one sharp glance from Felicity for him to hold his tongue.

"Oliver, hold him down," she instructed as she went towards the physicker's table to obtain the materials she needed.

"No dwale then?" Oliver asked. If he was going to have to hold Tommy down without the anesthetic, it was better to get to a place where he can exert most of his heft.

"Well, 'tis not I who's in such a mad rush that I can't use dwale to temper the pain fearing that I won't be able to get up before that dratted ceremony now, am I?" she harped as she rummaged through the medicine chest.

Tommy just gulped. It was not going to be pleasant. Not by a long shot.

Notes:

 **widdershins** adv.: the direction counter to the sun's course, which was considered unlucky

 **zounds** int.: a medieval oath used to humorously express surprise or indignation

 **handfasting** n. (sing.): a betrothal or commitment ceremony that precedes a trial marriage

 **dwale** n. (sing.): an herbal concoction used in medieval times as a sleeping draft and anesthetic

* * *

What did you think? Please let me know in the comments. Kisses!


	6. Nothing like Trouble

Here's another chapter! Finally! I know I've been remiss in updating this and I am sooooooooo sorry. Residency training is killer. Free time is a myth. Good thing I love spinning a myth or two. Hahahaha! Anyway, here's a shout out to all of you who have been really very patient with me and who've been kind enough to keep reading and keep leaving a few words of encouragement! Thank you from the very bottom of my heart. You keep me writing. ❤️❤️❤️ So, I leave this chapter for you, without further ado. XOXO

* * *

Chapter 6

"Don't," Oliver whispered to Felicity as Tommy began to stutter through his words. His friend looked green in the face, but any interference from them would have imperiled the peace they had sought to broker. Tommy would have to soldier through this handfasting without their help, if they had any hope of seeing this through.

 _It was unseemly the way Oliver had held her in check_ , Felicity thought. He had stood behind her instead of his rightful place beside her, she kenned, not so much by choice but by deliberate design to keep her from doing things such as the very action he had effectively stayed by winding his arm around her waist.

Oliver felt her body coil as the tension roiled through her, so he used his strength to bring her closer to him when he felt her fight his grip. "Please," he pleaded.

He didn't know what surprised him more: the edge of desperation that had him begging her or her actually listening and staying put. But it got him the result he wanted, so he kept his arm where it had landed.

Felicity took a deep breath as she allowed Oliver his request. That, however, did not mean that it sat well with her. The accord was important, yes. But her brother more so. It was only the thought of mortally failing and forever disappointing Tommy that kept her from doing so - that and the novelty of Oliver having asked for, not commanding, her cooperation.

As luck would have it, Quentin had quickly jumped in and shored Tommy up as he skillfully played off the stumble as a case of the jitters. He kept the crowd entertained for a few moments more as he assured himself that Tommy had his strength about him. And once Tommy surreptitiously nodded and put on a sheepish smile to play to the audience, the Chief playfully slapped his future son-in-law in the chest and bade the ceremony to continue. Malcolm and Robert, albeit nervously at first, joined in the good natured ribbing that followed, to mask what would have portended a true and utter failure of their mission.

It was only when Tommy had gotten through his bit that Oliver had felt some give in the tension that gripped Felicity's body.

She shuddered with relief as her brother pushed through. Felicity knew then, that if she had rushed to his aid as he had swayed on his feet that she would have unwittingly revealed his ongoing battle with his illness to the Court of Elders who were keeping a close and stringent eye on the young and foreign prince.

 _Woe is the world who would look upon a woman with censure just for being willing and able to help._ It was unfortunate but it was the world in which she lived in.

Alone now, it would seem. The successful completion of this handfasting had sealed her loss. Her brother, her one and only ally, her dearest friend, was now out of her reach. The thought deflated her just before the crowd erupted in cheers.

Oliver felt all resistance drain from her body then. He instinctively tightened his grip on her to offset the strength that seemingly left her. "Are you well?" he asked softly amid the raucous laughter that surrounded them.

No, she was not. In truth, she could feel her eyes begin to water. But because she could not and would not disclose such dismal thoughts on what should be a joyous occasion, she shored up whatever was left of her emotional reserves and put on a brave face.

Oliver could have just imagined feeling her lean back against him but before he could be certain, she had already dislodged his arm as she turned and faced him.

"I will be," she said as she began to take her leave. "I just need some air."

Oliver mistakenly thought it was relief and the need to recharge that had her leaving the tent.

But to Tommy, who happened to catch his sister's hasty retreat, it looked more like a sad and unbearable defeat.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Tommy was not the only one who noticed.

Laurel had seen Felicity's face fall just moments ago. She knew that look. She had seen it afore just shortly before the Princess fled the keep. She did not understand it then, but she understood it now.

Back when Tommy was courting her, she noticed that he would always get this look in his eyes when speaking of his sister. He said that he always felt safer with her around. She had to admit that she had been jealous of Felicity. It had seemed to her then that it wasn't the memory of his mother that she would have to live up to, but the saint that was her sister.

It had irritated her that Felicity had fled Blüdhaven days ago. She hadn't known that the Princess Royal had been out of her depth when it came to all the attendant responsibilities of planning and preparing for the wedding in Arkham until she told Tommy this morning. Tommy almost choked as he guffawed. Felicity, he said, was better with a siege than a wedding. Give her a needle, he added, and she'd just as soon sew together a man's flesh than a tapestry.

That changed everything for her. She had understood then that the Princess's skill in the medical arts had far outweighed her lack of interest in the whirl and twirl of the social scene.

She had seen first hand how she tended to Tommy. She knew little of their history but in the face of their father, whom she thought was overbearing, cold and distant, she had found the depth of devotion between the siblings behoveful.

And Laurel was grateful for all of that. If not for his sister, Tommy would not have survived. But now, with Tommy leaving Arkham more often, she knew how hard it was going to be for Felicity.

Laurel knew how cruel the world can be to a woman who did not conform to society's stifling rules. Heck, her sister, although the chieftain's daughter, had been and still is being castigated for it. It was only a credit to her sister that Sara doesn't let it affect her as much.

So she approached her betrothed.

Tommy felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Go on. Go to her. I have it here," Laurel said.

Tommy reached for her hand and squeezed before he brought it to his lips.

"You're a gem, love," he said as he kissed her cheek and made his leave.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Oliver had not been alone for a minute before his father cornered him.

"Oliver," Robert said by way of greeting as he passed a tankard of mead to his son.

"Yes, Father," he answered as he accepted. He never really partook. He took a sip though, for show.

"Your mother has been hounding me to get you home."

"Dad," Oliver sighed. He had been avoiding home. He'd taken postings one after the other to do precisely that. His mother tended to go overboard with feasts and balls in his honor. And it was only ever because she wanted to see him settled and wed.

Robert hid a smile while he drank. He was only ever "Dad" when Oliver wanted something - in this case, something he wanted to get out of. It was nice to see that despite everything that had happened, some things never changed.

"You know I can only hold her off for so long," Robert said. He was laying it on thick. With the success of Tommy's betrothal, he had convinced Malcolm to think about Felicity's future. The warrior had been a little apprehensive at first until Robert reminded his friend that if anyone can be a patroness of lost causes, Moira was it. If she could bring together a daughter of Krypton and the Prince of Daxam, then making an advantageous match for Felicity was going to be a walk in the park. Of course, Moira and Robert were wanting to make the same for Oliver, and Robert especially, was keen on Felicity being exactly that.

Oliver winced. He knew when his father got like this, that his mother was already threatening to come. And since he didn't exactly want to be responsible for the rest of his family traipsing around the Outlands, he caved. "All right. I shall take a fortnight's furlough."

"Take three. She'll be expecting you by week's end."

xxxxXXXXxxxx

As he was wont to do since his mother charged him with the care and protection of his sister, Tommy followed Felicity out of the Kings' tent. He shouldn't have wondered where she had gone when he found her with Drago. Drago was more than her war steed. He was friend, sometimes foe, but always family.

"We've lost Tommy, dear boy," he heard her say as she petted her horse. "It's just you and me against the world now."

He felt her heart's sorrow and could not abide by it. He had to do something, so he hurried towards her but only insomuch as his lungs would let him.

His heavy breathing turned Felicity's surprised attention toward him. "You shouldn't be exhausting yourself," she berated.

"Well, it looks like I'm needed more here," he said as he huffed and perched himself on a log, "Seeing as Drago here might think I've shuffled off this mortal coil with the way you speak of me."

Felicity bit her lower lip. She couldn't help how she felt.

And Tommy sympathized. He could just imagine how all this felt to someone who had lost her mother as a babe and who had been raised in almost utter isolation for most of her childhood. And worse, he knew quite well how Felicity detested showing any vulnerability. He would usually give her time to work through what ailed her, but this one they needed to address and quickly.

"Come here," he said as he patted the space beside him.

Felicity's shoulders sunk as she released a sigh. But she trod to the log on which her brother sat and plopped herself down.

She tried so hard to keep her tears from falling but between the sheer exhaustion of the last three days, the gnawing emptiness in her heart and Tommy bringing her into his embrace, she broke down and sobbed all over her brother's chest.

"I'm sorry," she hiccupped as she tried so hard to quell her sobs.

"It's alright, _Smoakey_ ," Tommy whispered as he invoked the sobriquet he had bestowed upon her many summers afore, when she had accidently burnt her hair in a futile attempt to stain what to her were her brazen locks. "'Tis just me. Let it out."

And she did.

Her tears slayed him but he was hoping that the release would be sanative. "I shall not cease being your brother, you know," he continued as he laid a brotherly kiss on her forehead. "It'll be but a month - two at most - before Laurel and I come back to Arkham to finally be wed." Frankly, he's had enough of the restrictive customs of his bride's people but he loved her, so he endured.

She knew that Tommy had wanted only to soothe and assure, but all it did was dig a deeper hole in Felicity's soul. At the end of those two months, she would lose her standing in Arkham. Unwed, she would be looked upon as a poor relation and custom dictated her removal from the only home, however wanting, she had known. Laurel will be Queen-in-Waiting. She was merely Princess - and by then, a Princess without a country, a princess in all but name and without responsibilities - and it broke her heart.

She could probably continue in the service of the Legion or she could establish her practice as a healer. She was not without substantial means. She had actively engaged in the practice of trade, which her father had unwittingly allowed under the tutelage of her godfather, King Robert, thinking it as some passing fancy that was better indulged than barred. And so, she was as rich as Croesus, and in her own right, if anyone bothered to care.

But nobody seemed to mind what would become of her. They were too enamored with her brother's fledgling marriage to bother with her affairs - or the lack thereof.

And so, bereft, she continued to wet her brother's shirt with her woeful tears.

* * *

Notes:

 **ken** v.: to know

 **behoveful** adj.: necessary

 **furlough** n.: a leave of absence

 **sobriquet** n.: a nickname bestowed by another

 **sanative** adj.: having the power to cure or heal

 **smoak** n.: archaic term for smoke

* * *

Like it? Hate it? Sound off in the reviews section below! Reviews/faves/follows are always welcome! Please be kind. Kisses!


	7. The Trouble with Her

It seems that I could never keep on schedule, so thank you for your enduring patience. Medical training is soooooo hectic that I actually spend what wee little bit of free time I have writing this and treat it as a mini vacation. Anyway, here's another chapter. Yay for us! To everyone, who's still here despite my delinquency, thank you from the very, very bottom of my heart. Your support and kind words mean a lot to me. XOXO!

* * *

Chapter 7

It was yet another day in this complicated life, Malcolm thought.

Dawn had not yet fully broken when it had come to his attention that a faction of Blüdhaven's conservatives had set their sights upon Felicity. They thought Felicity too brash and too forward for their liking. Her riding astride a horse was said to affront their sensibilities; her style of dress, an affront to their culture. And they were worried that she might be an untoward influence.

To whom, he did not know. But one thing was certain: they were planning to move against her. And as cruel as Malcolm was, he could not bring himself to fathom what that really entailed.

He inwardly stewed and found himself in an almost impossible situation. A hasty retreat right then would undermine Tommy's precarious position within Blüdhaven's hierarchy but the failure to act would leave them, and especially Felicity, most vulnerable. They couldn't risk her and the continued peace in these lands. They've already given up too much. And he would die before letting his daughter fall into the hands of those savages. He would die before he allowed his House to be brought low.

And so he had assembled those whom he trusted the most: Robert and Tommy. Quentin was likewise in attendance, having been the one who had brought him the news. Trust him, Malcolm did not - not fully and not yet. But he knew Quentin was desperate for peace in this part of the Outlands. More than that, he knew how the Chieftain's own daughter had suffered in the hands of the conservative orthodoxy. Trying to subdue them was one of the things that had spurred the formation of this alliance.

Oliver was called in only insomuch as he was Felicity's erstwhile warden.

Felicity, Tommy reported, was still abed. Exhausted, she had fallen asleep even before she hit the cot in Tommy's tent.

"It might be better yet that she's not here," Malcolm muttered under his breath. When it came to his daughter, he would rather give an order instead of a suggestion. Felicity had a knack for disregarding suggestions and with this looming threat, he had neither the time nor the patience to deal with a stubbornness that rivaled his own.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Felicity slowly opened her heavy eyes to a new dawn. She was nestled in bedding that was more luxurious than the modest pallet on which she had rested her tired body these past days.

She burrowed further into the comfort of her erstwhile bed. It had been a while since she'd had a good night's rest or a quiet morning's peace. All the responsibilities that had been foisted on her before this trip to the woods had run her ragged.

"Good, you're awake," a voice to her left said.

If it were anyone but Sara, she would've started. But as it was, she only raised a wretched eyebrow at Laurel's sister. Felicity and Sara may have become fast friends but she was not happy with the woman for interrupting what would have been her first real reprieve in a while.

"Don't look at me like that, sloomy head. There's no time to spuddle about. Lot's to do and fast," Sara said as she took Felicity's irritation with a smirk before throwing the supine princess her clothes.

Sara had been forced by circumstances into a change of sleeping quarters the night afore. Tommy, Laurel said, had left his sleeping sister on his own bed and as a consequence, had displaced them from what would have been their tent. Sara had relented and transferred to Tommy's tent while the couple commandeered hers. She clucked at that. She had wondered how a society as outwardly conservative as theirs could demand a pregnancy before a wedding. Her father explained to her that it was a way of securing the ruling family's bloodline and a way to prove the man's virility. Sara huffed. If only it were ever just that.

It had not even been daybreak when Laurel had barged into her temporary woodland abode. Sara had been startled into wakefulness by the noise and the unwelcome news her sister had brought. It was a testament to Felicity's weariness that the princess had not stirred one bit. Tommy had come in a minute later, and upon seeing his sister still abed, decided to let Felicity rest while he sent Laurel on an errand and he himself went to an audience with his father. Sara had volunteered to see to Felicity while they were gone. Apparently, the one they call Oliver, who was supposed to be Felicity's erstwhile keeper, was nowhere to be found.

Felicity, unaware of the chaos that surrounded her that morning, took to readying herself for the day with the aplomb of a lamb to slaughter.

"'Felicity! We haven't all day!" Sara insisted.

Felicity rolled her eyes at that but made haste anyway.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Oliver felt his stomach roil as Malcolm apprised everyone of this most recent threat. It was more than the nagging worry that he felt when Felicity had not come back to the revels last night.

He had sought her out then, only to find her in Tommy's arms. He thought it best to leave the siblings alone. He knew that their time together will be few and far between after all this. But Tommy had heard his approach and beckoned him to come nearer.

That had Oliver studying the princess. It was only then that he found out that she was indeed asleep on her brother's chest.

"I've a problem," Tommy had muttered. His friend was nowhere near his usual strength to carry Felicity back to the tent.

So, Oliver being the good friend that he was, swooped in and put the sleeping princess in the cradle of his arms.

It was a short trek back to Tommy's tent, but it was enough to make his body miss the feel of her weight against him. Oliver might not have known it then, but her weight had felt right in his hands.

He laid her down on one of the more comfortable cots and bid Sir Diggle to stand guard before his duty demanded his return to the revels. The Council was beginning to feel the Princes' absence and that would not do. He had to stand by Tommy for the countless other useless things these kinds of celebrations entailed.

Oliver let out a deep breath.

His last glimpse of the sleeping Princess was the last good thing he remembered before finding himself engulfed in the night's unforgiving blackness.

The dark had not been kind to him. Without the distraction of keeping a close eye on Felicity, his mind had fallen into its old rhythms. The nightmares that had been kept at bay the last few nights had come back with a vengeance. He had been forced from his slumber, unknowingly at first - that is, not until he found himself running aimlessly deep into the forest.

He was so out of it that it took him until the first rays of dawn to find his way back to camp. He was an excellent hunter. He could see better than most others in the dark, but not then.

He was lucky no one saw him. Or better yet, he was luckier that Tommy had assumed that he had come from a wench's bed as his friend caught him strolling back into camp.

But all of those seemed to be minute and distant concerns compared to the threat against Felicity. It wasn't his place to settle the affairs of others - at least, not yet - not while his father reigns and not while The Four Kings stand. But he knew just how dangerous this place was and he wasn't sure just how King Malcolm would come down on this situation.

And that had him speaking, yet again, against his better judgment. "I'll take Felicity away. I'll see to her removal immediately."

xxxxXXXXxxxx

"Why the haste?" Felicity asked as she finally caught up to Sara's furious pace. Felicity was a soldier in her own right but damn if she could catch up to the battle-hardened female without so much as panting. She could never fathom just how her friend could move so swiftly.

"There's been a development. I promised Tommy to get you to The Kings' Tent as soon as you're able."

"What development?" came Felicity's bewildered reply even as they both stepped in unannounced into the very place Sara had promised to bring her. "What development, Sara?"

But before the blonde had time to answer, Oliver's voice cut through the air.

"I'll take Felicity away. I'll see to her removal immediately."

Sara saw her friend stiffen. No, she thought, the brute did not just say that.

But the hard glint in Felicity's eyes confirmed what she had heard.

No good was going to come from this, Sara thought to herself.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Betrayal.

She did not know how Oliver could have hurt her as much as she hurt then but his words had cut her right to the quick. Until a few days ago, the good for nothing Prince was the bane of her existence - from pawning off all his supposed responsibilities on to her to dominating her brother's time. She should have known better.

"My removal to where, exactly?" Felicity retorted.

Oliver whipped his head around at her voice. A sense of relief flooded him. But the fire in her eyes had him holding his next breath.

Ever the peacemaker, Tommy cut in as he sensed her sister's oncoming tirade. "Felicity, good, you're here. Something has come up and I'm afraid that it involves you."

The pointed arch of a single eyebrow told him that his tepid words were not proof against her anger. "Involves me? By the looks of it, I certainly would not have guessed it."

Silence.

At that point, nothing could have halted her ire, so everybody just tacitly agreed to let her go off.

To Felicity though, it served to be the final straw. They wanted her gone, then she'll remove herself at once. She knew that they could not leave the Outlands just yet, but she could. It was a three-day ride to Arkham. She could manage that in less if she left that instant. It was easy to fool men with her garb anyway. So, she made her decision.

"Go discuss me then. Go on. If it's all the same to you, I shall take my leave."

"Felicity, come on!" Tommy pleaded. "Don't be like this."

"Like what, Tommy? Like what? Like a woman who would, for once, let men decide her fate?"

"Felicity!" Malcolm warned.

"What now, Father? It's what you've wanted for the longest time, have you not? A daughter who would just meekly do whatever it is you decide for her?"

"That's not fair, Felicity, and you know it," Malcolm said with deadly calm. That's the thing with him. He was calmest when he was angriest.

"Oh, do I now?" Did she really? All her life she had done whatever it was that she thought would please him but it was never enough. Burdened with a daughter whom he did not know how to raise, he had sent her away to the Nippon Widow at a very young age. At the time she needed a mother, all she had was a strict taskmaster. At a time when she needed a father, all she had was a military commander. She had not once been able to sit at her father's knee - not like the way Tommy had. For once, she would like her father to acknowledge his shortcomings and her brother to realize that she did not have the father he had and remembered. Her father had always treated her like a burden at worst, an inconvenience at best - and that brought all of her prior fears and misgivings to the fore of her mind. She had had it. Enough was enough.

"Do, I, father? Fine! Being the vexing burden that I am to you, I shall remove myself this instant. You can wash your hands off me forever, then. Good bye, good riddance and damn you all to hell!" she shouted as she turned her back and stalked away from Sara and the men she had trusted but who had betrayed her yet again.

"Felicity!" Tommy called out but it was Oliver who went after her. Her hysterics had set him off.

She would risk her neck for her stubborn pride, Oliver thought. Well, he was having none of it. His ground-eating strides had him catching up to her as she stepped outside of the Kings' Tent.

"Hey!" he spat as he spun her around by the arm.

"Unhand me!" Felicity demanded.

Oliver very rarely raised his voice but this was one of those occasions. "I do not understand you. You have been given a wider latitude than most women and yet you throw it all back to our faces as if you have been given none!"

"Well, 'tis my life and 'tis my choice!" Felicity shouted back.

"Gods, Felicity!" Oliver screamed in exasperated disbelief. "For all your intelligence, did it ever occur to that big brain of yours that we are all so worried sick about you that we'd rather address this at the soonest possible instant?"

His outburst rendered Felicity speechless for once and it was only in the silence that followed that he realized the strength of his grip on her arm. He promptly let her go.

He took a few measured breaths before he spoke again, this time, in what he hoped was a calmer, quieter voice. "The way I see it, you do have a choice: would you rather tempt the fates and put yourself and our Realm in harm's way or would you just please go back inside and help us neutralize this threat against you?"

At her continued silence, he prompted, "What will it be, Princess?"

* * *

Notes:

 **orthodoxy** n. _sing._ : the quality of conforming to authorized or generally accepted theories, doctrines or practices

 **sloomy** adj.: sleepy or sluggish

 **spuddle** v.: to assume an air of importance without reason; or to make trifles seem important.

* * *

Hit or miss? Sound off below! Kisses!


	8. Trouble Me Dearly

Hello, my lovelies! Here I am again - as late as ever. Please accept this chapter and my apologies, and also my undying thanks for your infinite patience and your very, very kind words. XOXO

* * *

 **Chapter 8**

"I've gone and vexed your sister, haven't I?" Oliver asked Tommy as he received yet another deadly glare from Felicity once the group had adjourned to break their fast.

He may have regretted it a little that he had lost his temper on her but he was grateful that she had decided to take a more active hand in her own protection. That he was tasked with ensuring it, however, was another matter entirely. He kenned it was why she had been giving him the evil eye every instant she could.

 _Oh, if only looks could kill._

"Stop worrying about it," Tommy said. "I think, if you have well and truly vexed her, you'd have long been dead. I mean, have you seen her fight? Next to Sara, my sister could verily be the deadliest female alive."

 _Aye, she could be deadly indeed_. Oliver remembered just how potent her anger was and how she had skillfully cut his friend's flesh - and those were enough for him to reverse his earlier musings. He had always thought of Tommy's sister as a nuisance. He paid her no heed nor mind - that is, until she'd ridden to their rescue a few days before. And since then, Felicity had, by degrees, exasperated, cajoled, challenged and defied him. He mentally sighed. Keeping her safe was going to be damnably difficult.

"But that aside, please take care of her," Tommy continued, unaware of the thoughts that had passed through his friend's mind. "I trust her welfare to no one else."

xxxxXXXXxxxx

"He has a point, you know," Sara whispered to Felicity as she pilfered a morsel of cheese that Cook had laid on her friend's trencher. The princess was busy giving the High Prince a death glare so Sara was sure that Felicity could not have minded. "It is unwise to leave yourself alone and exposed," she continued as she chewed.

Felicity knew that her friend was right but that did nothing to quell her annoyance. The vengeful half of her brain had been quietly ruminating Oliver Queen's demise and it did not welcome any logical intrusion. She tore at her bread instead to keep from throwing another fit.

It was her fault, too. She had followed him back to the tent. She could have been on her way to freedom, but now she was stuck with him. Felicity huffed. Even in captivity she did not have any real choice.

She had wanted to spend the last of her serviceable reign as Princess in Arkham but no, her father would have none of it. She was instead being sent off to Starling under the escort of none other than Starling's High Prince. She could only ever think of one reason why Oliver's mother, _The Empress of Etiquette_ , Queen Moira, would suffer the likes of her: she was this season's ugly duckling. And that only ever meant one thing - she was being 'readied' for marriage and she had nary a say in it.

xxxXXXxxx

"Come now, Felicity. You will not find her wanting," Tommy said as he ushered his sister out of his tent. With the looming threat against her, subterfuge remained their friend. It was imperative that they carry on as though nothing was afoot. She had to go about her normal routine, which in this case meant maintaining visibility around camp. But Felicity had been sulking since breakfast and it was nearly noon.

"I doubt it," Felicity retorted. She knew she was being petty but she was still miffed that her brother had voted with the rest of them to send her away.

Tommy kept his answering grimace to himself as he led Felicity to the Blüdhaven side of camp, where Laurel was waiting for them. He had always liked his sister's fire but there were times when he was sorely tested by it. He understood where she was coming from, he truly did, but to his mind, her safety superseded her desire for more control over her life.

He had realized the toll his marriage would take on Felicity. She was vulnerable to their father's whims - the King's sweeping edicts that often affected her life more than his. And without much of his own temporizing presence, he feared his sister growing lonely and bitter, so he had bid his betrothed many months before to find Felicity a suitable companion.

And now that his sister has been thrown into proverbial exile, and to Oliver's homeland, no less, he knew that he had to make sure that his sister would not be made a pariah in the sophisticated scene of Starling's _high society_. If Felicity were to survive Starling, or more aptly, if Starling were to ever survive her, she was going to need a confidante, or better yet, a co-conspirator who can temper the tedium that will surely set in once the daily rigor of a soldier's regimented life was supplanted by peace, fêtes and feasts. Well, that and her added security.

"There you are!" Laurel said as she welcomed Tommy with a kiss. To Felicity, she said, "I was beginning to think you'd change your mind."

"Tommy has yet to convince me, so you'd best hold onto your horses a while," Felicity countered.

"Oh, don't be such a sourpuss, Felicity," Tommy lightly chided. He had asked her many a moon afore to give Laurel a chance and she promised to try. Now, it was up to him to prod his sister into the right direction.

Felicity gave him a wary glance but she remembered her promise. "Alright," she sighed. "Where is this companion you've found for me, Laurel?"

"She's training with Sara," she answered as she excitedly led them to her sister.

Felicity wondered if she had heard correctly. _Why would a lady's maid be training with a soldier?_ Because Sara was one, even if Blüdhaven's rules prohibited her friend from being recognized as such.

The clash of wood hitting wood greeted them.

"I thought you were finding me someone who'll fetch me a bath and help me dress?" Felicity muttered in disbelief. In front of them were Sara and another woman, both of whom were wielding their quarterstaves at full strength as they traded blows.

"Oh, she can do that, too," Laurel smiled.

Tommy gave his fiancée a grateful squeeze as he took her hand. From the look on Felicity's face, he knew that Laurel had chosen well.

"Lyla, come meet The Princess!" Laurel hollered.

"Nay, Laurel!" Sara yelled as she flung her quarterstaff to Felicity. "Let the Princess test her mettle instead."

Felicity caught the staff in mid-air without missing a beat. She quickly weighed the piece of wood in her hand and adjusted her grip.

A quick acknowledging nod was all she got before Lyla forced her into the defensive.

Thwack. Thwack. Thwack!

The solid snap of the bough was unforgiving, the pace Lyla had set, unrelenting.

The woman can fight, Felicity thought, as she fended off another blow.

A flawless thrust would have found its home against Felicity's chest had she not parried it in time. Seeing her opening as she broke her opponent's attack, Felicity shifted her grip and used the shaft of her staff to deliver a swinging blow to what would have been Lyla's head.

But Lyla, quick on her feet as she was, was able to dodge it by a hair. It was not, however, enough to escape Felicity's staff as she found the opposite end coming straight for her neck.

But no, it did not find its target.

It took a breath for Lyla to realize that the princess had halted mid-strike.

"You shall do," Felicity decreed as she withdrew her pole and assumed the neutral position.

"So will you, milady," Lyla quipped as she dipped into a curtsy, acknowledging her defeat.

Felicity guffawed at Lyla's cheeky reply before she faced her family, "Tommy, I'm convinced. And Laurel, you can let go of your horses now!"

xxxxXXXXxxxx

 _Piqued._

That was how Oliver felt. Malcolm had stayed Felicity's immediate evacuation in favor of setting a trap with her as bait, and somehow it was he who, unfortunately, had become the villain in this dastardly plot.

It irked him to no end, this stubbornness of hers. He had tried speaking with Felicity but she had been resolutely ignoring him. It had not helped one bit that she had taken to using her maid as a constant shield against him. To say that he did not like the new addition was, by and large, a gross understatement. And since he could not seem to get the audience he had sought repeatedly with the Princess, he had, instead, grilled Tommy about this Lyla who had Felicity absolutely chuffed to bits.

"We know not where her true allegiance lies," Oliver had pointed out. "What if she's a spy, Tommy?"

"Nay, she is not. I've had her scrutinized," Tommy had answered, but upon Oliver's unconvinced stare, he added, "Extensively. Albeit discreetly."

Oliver had shaken his head, "That woman would know she was being watched no matter how discreetly you do it." Something about Lyla screamed "mercenary". Worse still, he had a nagging feeling about it.

"What of it? Laurel and Sara had known her since they were girls. She's a distant cousin. Quentin had vouched for her, and more than a handful of my father's spies have vetted her ever since Laurel had volunteered her for the position."

 _Of course_ , Oliver had thought with an eye roll, _Malcolm would have had his spies immersed in the Outlands._ And that had made him all the more worried. If Quentin had to be the one to come to the King about the threat to the Princess, then either Malcolm's spies were getting rusty - which was unfathomable - or the perpetrators were covert - nay, powerful - enough that even the best spies had not uncovered them, or worse still, powerful enough to convince the best spies to turn against the most ruthless King to have ever walked the earth.

And that worry had turned his gut then. Now, it reached fever pitch. And Oliver had learned to trust his instincts. He didn't care if he would be on the receiving end of some more of her ire. _Damn the Princess's feelings all to hell_ , he thought as he stealthily stalked towards Felicity's tent.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Lyla had finally finished tidying up the tent. Her mistress had a penchant for strewing her things about, especially, she noticed, when Her Highness had something on her mind.

It had been barely two days, but it seemed longer. While she had, in truth, been yearning for a more dynamic swing to things, she had not relished the idea of being another lady's maid - she born of true warrior's blood. But she had given Dinah, Laurel and Sara's mother, her promise that she would see to her children's happiness. And Laurel had asked, and so she had relented.

In the few days that she had come to know her mistress, she knew that the woman known as the Lady Drago presented an utterly unique conundrum. The Princess Royal was a termagant in the eyes of plenty and was, if her brother, The Prince of Arkham, was to be believed, in dire need of saving from the constraints of everyday society. But what she saw was a young woman who was so sure of herself in some things and absolutely oblivious in others, a lady equally skilled in dealing death and saving lives, and a princess living the spartan life of a soldier - with a temper to boot. She knew right then that she would have her hands full protecting the Princess against threats from within and without - and that was a challenge she could not resist.

She was pulled from her introspection by some silent alarm. Her instincts screeched. She knew immediately that someone was approaching the tent even before a shadow fell on its curtains.

She quickly positioned herself right square at the entrance, ready to defend her charge.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

As has been the usual, however short it had been, Lyla, Felicity's newfound servant, had blocked Oliver's path yet again.

"The Princess rests," the maid said, her stance growing ever more rigid after she realized who it was she was speaking to.

Oliver barely leashed his mounting anger as he quietly but firmly put his foot down, "If you know what's best for your mistress, you'll go tell Sara to get ready and Sir John to meet us at the rally point. We move this night."

He caught Lyla's widening eyes a split second before she cast a worried look at her sleeping ward.

"I shall get her out," Oliver promised.

It was only then that Lyla gave him an acknowledging nod and left.

Having dispensed with the servant, he hastened towards the sleeping Princess. He did not, however, expect to be held at knife point - and by her, no less.

"It's me, Felicity," Oliver said as he fought her frantic grip.

"Oliver?" she asked, her voice still groggy from sleep.

He capitalized on her momentary confusion to reverse her hold on him and relieve her of her weapon as gently as he could. "It's me, Felicity," he reassured her as he felt her body instinctively tense against him, poised to fight. "I'm not here to hurt you. You hear me?"

Having finally recognized his voice, Felicity nodded her head.

"I'm going to slowly let you go. Promise me you won't attack."

At her assent, Oliver cautiously relaxed his grip on her, mindful of any blow she might spring on him.

Felicity faced him warily. "Why are you here? What's going on?" she whispered.

"We must leave tonight."

At her still skeptical look, Oliver pleaded, "Please, for once, just trust me on this. I'd rather you be safe sooner than later."

It took a beat before she started moving. She went for the dagger he had thrown on the floor.

Oliver didn't breath until it was safely back in its sheath.

"All right," she said as she faced him again.

He did not know what finally convinced her. Truthfully, he had expected more of a fight. But he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he quickly acknowledged her acquiescence. "All right. Let's go."

* * *

Notes:

 **trencher** n. _sing._ : A plate made out of days-old bread, wood or metal

 **quarterstaves** n. _pl._ : A wooden pole used as a medieval weapon

 **chuffed** adj.: to be very pleased

 **termagant** adj.: a harsh-tempered or overbearing woman

* * *

Please don't forget to hit the review button to let me know what you think!


	9. Hello Trouble

I know I've been notoriously delinquent in keeping this story updated. But here, at last, is another chapter! I know it's short, terribly short, but I think I'll keep chapters shorter from now on so that I could manage to write a few more in shorter periods of time. Pockets of free time disappear quickly during residency. Anyway, I won't keep you waiting! Shoutout to those who continue to read and take the time to leave me reviews! You help shape this fic and you really keep me writing! XOXO

* * *

 **Chapter 9**

The naked anxiety in Oliver's eyes prompted Felicity to move. It was only then that she really, really understood the gravity of her situation.

Oliver Queen did not blink in the face of danger. Hell, she always thought he was immune to it. But the sight of him, visibly unnerved by this unseen threat, had jolted something in her.

If there ever was one thing she could say about the man, it was that his field instincts were a portent for bad tidings. She knew it would be wise to heed him in situations like this, so she picked up her dagger and faced him.

"All right," she said as she sheathed her blade.

It took a moment for him to respond, she thought, probably not quite believing her uncharacteristically prompt assent. "All right. Let's go," he replied.

"What's the plan?" She asked.

"We go fast and we go light," he said.

She rummaged through her armory and went for her cuirass. As armor went, it would give her the best protection without adding too much weight.

She struggled as she tried to don it. It was the sleep, she thought, as she tried to make her gummy fingers work. She regretted now why she hadn't slept in it.

Oliver quickly went towards her with the intent to help, but immediately saw how indelicate that would be. The buckles of her armor were not in the places where his would have been. They were all on one side instead of both, and ran on her left from the underside of her arm to her waist.

"Need help?" he asked, his voice tentative.

She nodded. She needed someone to secure some of the side straps. She could have done it herself but it would've taken time they did not have. "The lower buckles, I need them strapped."

Oliver went to work. It was cleverly engineered, her cuirass. It looked made of leather in its entirety but the heft told him that it had been reinforced with some sort of sheet metal.

It was only then that he recognized that her armor was designed to be worn without help - well, without it in ordinary circumstances anyway.

"Too tight?" he asked as he began to fasten the first one.

"Nay, just right," she answered.

Knowing the fit she wanted, his fingers flew as the buckles engaged quickly. They were just about finished when rustling curtains had Oliver quickly hauling Felicity behind him.

"Sara," Felicity sighed with relief. Had Oliver not shoved her unceremoniously behind his back, effectively throwing her off balance, Sara would have been sporting a new, sparkly, albeit bloody wound right down the center of her chest.

"What are you two still doing here?!" Sara exclaimed incredulously as she made her way deeper into the tent.

Maybe it was her newly blackened hair that rendered her audience mute, but when neither the Prince nor the Princess answered her, Sara picked up Felicity's satchel and flung it to Oliver, who caught it without much ado. "You haven't the time to dilly-dally," she said as she proceeded to heave a few choice weapons into Oliver's arms.

"Your hair…" Felicity murmured.

"When Tommy said you'd help…" Oliver trailed.

Shaking her head in disbelief, Sara said, "Yes, my hair is black. Yes, I'm here to help, but it won't be worth a damn if you two tarry about. So, you best be gone and soon!"

xxxxXXXXxxxx

 _They would see medicine and call it witchcraft._

Tommy thought as he paced The Kings' Tent for the thousandth time. His father's spies had delivered their latest reports to him that morning. _Witch_ , they had called her. _Hag._

But those did not compare to what those bastards had planned to do to his sister.

Tommy had never envisioned this. Mayhap he had been well and truly naïve to the depravity of man, but this was on a whole other level, and so he had sworn on his mother's memory never to let them touch a hair on Felicity's head.

He had approached Sara with his plan. Surely, he thought, she would want a chance to visit her own vengeance upon the very people who had authored her persecution. He had offered the warrior his and his Kingdom's protection but the woman refused it.

"Nonsense, Tommy. I shall do it for her and for myself. No other," Sara had said. She had agreed only because Felicity was a friend.

Tommy, however, would have none of it. Sara would have her place in Arkham, if she ever had need of it. He even made sure that his father, the King, had set the royal seal upon it.

But all that would be moot if he failed to protect his sister. And so he had deigned to defy his father as he made his decision.

Tommy would let Sara be bait, as Felicity made her escape.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

There was that familiar sinking feeling in the pit of Lyla's stomach when Sara had described the man she was told to look for. Now that he was a few paces away, there was no denying it.

She knew him once, once in The Old World, when the only life they knew was fed by the ravages of war. But she knew him by some other name.

 _Spartan._

He looked different yet exactly the same. She could scarce believe it, but there was no denying what her eyes were telling her.

"Sp- Sir John," Lyla muttered, stumbling over her words as she chose at the last instant to call him by the name he went by in the present.

"Poor form, Harbinger, or is it Lyla now?" John teased, not missing her uncharacteristic stutter. He could not help himself.

Standing in front of him was the woman who was once known as the Harbinger, the Angel of Death, the Pride of Abbadon. Where she went, death followed. Life ceased. And if history served, his had almost ended by her hand - almost, but not quite.

"Still up to your old tricks?" He chided, knowing it was a cheap shot. It annoyed him, this sudden penchant of his to needle her.

And it annoyed the woman in front of him enough to stiffen as if he'd slapped her.

"Your liege bids you. It is time," she pronounced through gritted teeth, as she straightened and whirled away from him.

The pang that seized him at the sight of her retreating back was almost insurmountable but he shook it off. He hadn't the time for recrimination. They all had a part to play and his had beckoned.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

 _The Four Kings will fall._

It was an oath sworn in blood that long ago night.

And it was an oath that would see fruition.

It was well then that this mission was going as planned. The Circle will wait no longer.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

Felicity and Oliver made their way wordlessly through the moonlit darkness to their first waypoint. It was unusual, the stillness that met them, and that had Oliver pulling her back.

 _Shh_ , he said with his fingers.

He threw a small stone across the clearing to a pile of deadwood.

Then it came. Two raps on wood bark. Then a third a beat later.

If it were any other day, that would have meant the all clear. But right then, he knew it was something else.

Felicity felt Oliver stiffen and heard him breathe one single word.

"Run!"

* * *

Notes:

 **portent** (n. sing.): a forewarning that something, especially something momentous or calamitous, is likely to happen

 **cuirass** (n. sing.): a piece of armor consisting of breastplate and backplate fastened together

 **waypoint** (n. sing.): an intermediate point on a route or line of travel

 **Abaddon** (n. prop.): the Angel of the death; also the angel of the Abyss


End file.
